


In Sickness and In Heath

by here_comes_the_moose



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 5+1 Things, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Food Poisoning, Hangover, Headaches & Migraines, M/M, Motion Sickness, Sick Crowley (Good Omens), Sickfic, Vomiting, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), stomach flu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2020-09-01 00:27:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20249137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/here_comes_the_moose/pseuds/here_comes_the_moose
Summary: Five Times Aziraphale looks after a sick Crowley and One Time it's the other way around.





	1. Migraine

Crowley did not get migraines often.

Okay, so they happened often enough that Crowley usually kept a bottle of Excedrin Migraine in the Bentley, and Aziraphale kept a backup bottle in his coat, but not often enough to know the warning signs and take proper measures to prevent them from becoming unbearable.

Such was the case today.

Crowley and Aziraphale has been invited to Anathema’s house for a dinner party she and Newt were hosting. The Them were in attendance, of course, and up to their usual shenanigans but a bit more dialed down, since they were indoors and eating.

That did not prevent them from being loud, however.

After they had left, since their parents wanted them home by a certain time, Crowley began to notice the way his head started to feel clouded and as if his brain was swimming. Maybe I’ve had too much wine? He thinks to himself, even though he knows very well that he hasn’t even come near to his usual amount, wanting to set a good example for the children.

Aziraphale plops down on the sofa next to him, holding his second slice of Anathema’s pie, and Crowley feels a light stabbing pain start up in the inner corner of his eye sockets as the blueberry scent wafts over to him.

“This pie is absolutely scrumptious!” Aziraphale exclaims after taking a large bite, and Crowley winces at the loud noise. In reality, Aziraphale hadn’t exclaimed anything and had simply complimented the pie in his normal, soft speaking voice.

Crowley began to panic as he realized the migraine symptoms were coming on fast, and he currently had no medicine to stop it. Aziraphale had thrown out the bottles of Excedrin the other day, since he noticed they had both expired a few months ago on the same day, since they had been in a two-pack, and Anathema only kept ibuprofen in her house, which for his migraines was basically the same as taking nothing.

The stabbing pain was now intensifying and two more points of stabbing had developed on his right temple and above his right eyebrow as he tried to follow along with Anathema and Azirphale’s conversation, which had switched from compliments on pie to a semi-debate about books.

“I’m just saying that I don’t think Gatsby was all that great,” Anathema says. “He had a fling and then became obsessed with her and tried to break up her marriage and win her back with money and illegal activity.”

“While I’m not saying that you’re incorrect,” Aziraphale begins, “I still have such a soft spot for Gatsby and how devoted he seemed to be. Sure, he definitely went about things the wrong way, but Daisy and the green light represent- Crowley, dear, you’re sweating. Are you alright?”

This wouldn’t be a cause for concern, since it was summer and the cottage currently had no air conditioning, but Crowley, having been a snake, tended to run cold and almost never sweat. Now, however, Crowley’s forehead prickled with sweat as he suddenly felt overwhelmingly warm as he tried to deal with the mounting pain and trying to ignore the small spots that were now appearing in his vision.

“Peachy,” Crowley responds through slightly gritted teeth. He wants nothing more than to put his head down on the cool surface of the coffee table, but that will definitely send the message that he wasn’t alright. Crowley didn’t like to have people fussing over him much when he sick, unlike Aziraphale, who needed to be held and cuddled, which Crowley gladly did.

“Oh, Aziraphale, he doesn’t look too good,” Anathema adds, looking a bit concerned.

Crowley wishes he could put his sunglasses on, to try and block out some of the bright light that’s causing his head to near imploding. Come to think of it, it’s also making the lovely wine, dinner, and dessert sit heavily in his now churning stomach. Now his vision is swimming thanks to the awful aura that’s now creeping its way into his vision. Oh, he hopes he’ll be fine and won’t need to lie down or worse, like throw up.

It’s probably been too long since he’s spoken or supposed to have responded, so he says, “I’m good. Fine. Must have drank too much too fast.” He winces at how much talking hurts his head and also at how shaky his voice came out sounding.

Aziraphale frowns in concern, knowing that Crowley had definitely neither drank too much nor drank too fast and how bad he must be feeling to have said that.

“Anathema, I’m terribly sorry, but will you please excuse us for a moment?” Aziraphale asks. Anathema nods and takes Aziraphale’s plate into the kitchen. Azirphale then turns to Crowley and asks, “Are you having a migraine, my dear?”

“I don’t know, I think so,” Crowley responds quietly.

“Do you need me to see if we can stay here until it passes?” Aziraphale asks. “I know your vision sometimes gets all swirly, so you won’t be able to drive.”

Crowley wants to respond, but he suddenly feels unbearably nauseous and dizzy, so he groans and leans forward to place his head in his hands. He hates feeling nauseous when he has a migraine, since he usually stays that way for a while before he can finally throw up, which he hates, and because it always manages to make his headache worse, since dizziness usually accompanies nausea for him.

He feels Aziraphale’s hand on his back, rubbing it, which is nice especially since he feels like the room is spinning even with his eyes closed. He feels the hand go away for a bit and figures Aziraphale is probably letting Anathema know what’s going on. Although Crowley’s not sure how long this takes, it’s long enough for his nausea to increase tenfold and make him even more miserable. He feels like his stomach is in his throat and his insides keep churning and twisting upsetly.

The last thing he wants to do is move from his current position, but a bitter taste starts to fill his mouth, and he really doesn’t want to vomit all over the floor. He forces himself into an upright position and forces himself to open his eyes as he stands up.

Standing was a big mistake.

Crowley is overcome with an awful wave of vertigo that makes the room spin around him at an awkward slant, causing his nausea to reach a tipping point as it forces him to double over and dry-heave.

“Oh dear, let’s get you to the toilet,” Aziraphale frets as he enters to the room to see Crowley mere seconds away from redecorating the floor with sick. He rushes over to Crowley and drags him to the bathroom, where he lowers the taller man in front of the toilet. Crowley groans and dry-heaves again, causing Aziraphale to wince in sympathy. He knows how much the demon hates to throw up and tries to avoid it for as long as possible, which often makes him feel worse. Aziraphale starts to rub Crowley’s back again.

“Shh, it’s alright, just let it happen,” Aziraphale says softly, hoping to offer some comfort.

Crowley groans before retching and then throwing up. Azirphale continues to rub his back and brushes some hair off his forehead as Crowley throws up some more and practically hugs the toilet.

Crowley can hardly recount a time he’s ever felt worse than he does now. His head feels seconds away from being sliced open, he barely knows which way is up, and he can’t stop vomiting. He’s glad Aziraphale is there with him, rubbing his back, or else he might actually cry.

The retches finally die down, but Crowley stays slumped over the bowl, not trusting his body to be done yet, since his stomach is still upset.

“Are you ready to rinse your mouth?” Aziraphale asks softly. Crowley raises a shaking finger to say no as he hiccups. Aziraphale sighs and moves his hand to rub Crowley’s stomach, something they always do when one of them have an upset stomach.

After a few minutes, when the hiccups stop and the vertigo dies down, Crowley shakily moves away from the toilet bowl, looking and feeling like death with his face an awful pale, almost green color, and his eyes dull and rimmed with dark circles and tears from the exertion of being sick. He rests his cheek against the cool tile of the wall as Aziraphale reaches to flush the toilet, which he’s extremely grateful for. He’s never been good with vomit and seeing it while feeling this awful would likely make him sick again.

There’s a knock at the door, and Aziraphale opens it to see Newt and Anathema.

“Newt set up the bed for you two,” Anathema says. “I also found some peppermint and eucalyptus oils, which I’ve heard might help if he’s not too sensitive to scents.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale smiles. “I greatly appreciate what you’ve done for us. I’ll bring him to the room when he’s ready and see how he feels about the oils.”

Aziraphale smiles at the couple and then closes the door once again and turns to Crowley, whose eyes are squeezed shut against the lights and the pain in his head.

“My dear, Anathema and Newton have set up a bed for us,” Aziraphale whispers. “Do you think you’re ready to go lie down?”

Crowley makes a small “mhmm” noise of affirmation as he drapes his forearm over his eyes.

“Anathema also has some peppermint and eucalyptus oils, since those are supposed to be good for your headaches, if you want to try that?” Aziraphale asks.

“Hhnn...nooo...nauseous,” Crowley groans. “No smells.”

“Alright, love, no oils,” Aziraphale says softly, rubbing Crowley’s shoulder. “I’m going to pick you up, okay? Unless you’re not dizzy anymore?”

Crowley gave a slight nod, which thankfully Aziraphale understood and lifted Crowley up off the floor, muttering about needing to feed him more. Crowley was immensely grateful that he didn’t get more nauseous from the change in position, still haunted by one memory he had from the 1950’s when that had happened and ended very unfortunately for Aziraphale’s vest.

Crowley felt himself being deposited onto the bed and sighed at the cool comfort of the pillow. Aziraphale removed his shoes and socks before covering him with the blankets and tucking him in a bit. Crowley felt the bed dip as Aziraphale sat next to him and began to massage his head.

Crowley isn’t sure how long they stayed like that, with Aziraphale massaging his pounding head, uninterrupted except for one time Crowley needed to throw up in the trash can that had been placed next to the bed, before there was a soft knock at the door.

“Come in,” Aziraphale calls.

Anathema pokes her head in and asks, “Crowley, how are you feeling? Do you want any tea? I have some ginger tea, which I usually don’t have, but I was feeling sick the other day so Newt got me a box, and I know it’s good if you’re still feeling nauseous.”

Crowley smiles and asks, half jokingly and half hopefully, “Are you pregnant?”

Anathema laughs, “Hell no! So do you want some tea?”

Crowley considers it for a bit. He still has the awful headache, he doesn’t feel nauseous per se, but he doubts it would be a good idea to ingest anything while he’s still feeling pretty bad. He replies, “No thank you. Not right now at least.”

Anathema nods, “Okay. Well, Newt and I are going to bed now, but don’t hesitate to let us know if you need anything. Good night.”

Anathema closes the door behind her and Aziraphale removes his coat, vest, shirt, and pants before climbing into bed next to Crowley.

“Do you want me to hold you?” Aziraphale asks softly. Sometimes Crowley didn’t want to be held when he was feeling sick.

“Yes please,” Crowley’s voice cracks a little bit from the awful stabbing pain in his head. Aziraphale wraps his arms around Crowley, who has now started to shiver a bit, and begins to massage Crowley’s head with one hand and Crowley’s stomach with the other. Aziraphale smiles to himself when he feels Crowley relax a bit and he presses his cheek to Crowley’s back. The poor demon is shaking like a leaf, so Aziraphale miracles up a heating pad at a perfect temperature and places it on Crowley's stomach. Crowley curls up around the heating pad and nuzzles himself closer into Aziraphale's arms.

They lay together for several more minutes until Aziraphale feels Crowley relax some more and hears the demons breaths get softer and more even. Aziraphale was thankful that Crowley was asleep, since he usually felt better once he woke up after having a migraine. Aziraphale presses a soft kiss to Crowley's shoulder before falling asleep.

\----------------

Aziraphale wakes up when he feels Crowley lightly stirring next to him; he turns over to see Crowley smiling softly at him, and the angel smiles back at the love of his life.

"Good morning," Aziraphale says softly. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Crowley replies, almost whispering. "Still a bit dizzy and slightly queasy, but a lot better than yesterday."

"Are you alright to eat?" Aziraphale asks. "I can make you some tea and you can eat some saltines, and depending on how that settles, we can try some soup or toast if you'd like."

Crowley thinks for a second; his stomach still feels a bit uneasy, but he doesn't feel like he's going to throw up anytime soon and he _is_ hungry. He nods and slowly moves to get up, wincing at how his head slightly swims with dizziness, but is thankful that it disappears after a few seconds. Aziraphale rushes over to his side of the bed to help Crowley up, despite the demon's protests that he is _perfectly fine, I'm not gonna break, Angel_. The two then go outside to get some breakfast.


	2. Motion Sickness

It was not a fact known to many, but the demon known as Crowley got motion sickness. Aziraphale knew of course, since he was on the ark with Crowley and one time they had ridden a train together, which had not gone well _at all_, so he knew romantic couple cruises or scenic train rides were out of the question.

He had not foreseen flying being an issue, however. 

Crowley had once been an angel, and angels can fly, so Aziraphale thought Crowley would be fine going on an airplane. He had failed to remember that Crowley had not flown in six thousand years, since even though the demon still had wings, they were more of a reminder of falling than anything, other than intimidation or mating purposes.

So, Aziraphale, soft, romantic angel that he is, planned a beautiful trip for him and Crowley to Italy. They would be staying in a nice town with great food and wine, and Aziraphale had even signed them up for a wine tour and tasting. Crowley was excited, Aziraphale was excited, everything was going perfectly.

Then it started to go to shit.

“We’re going to be taking off soon,” Aziraphale says, pointing out the window. “It’s exciting.”

The plane then loudly begins to pick up speed as it gets ready to take off, and Aziraphale notices that Crowley has grabbed his hand and is squeezing it. Aziraphale rubs his hand reassuringly, knowing that take-off startles people who aren’t used to flying. Aziraphale, although he preferred using his own wings, did enjoy flying, especially since he usually got a new book whenever he travelled, but the wine and leisurely pace was definitely a perk as well.

The plane is in the air and has steadied a bit, but Aziraphale notices that Crowley is still clutching his hand. 

“My dear, would you like some wine or something to help you relax a bit?” Aziraphale asks. 

“No thanks, angel, I’m fine,” Crowley replies tightly. 

Aziraphale frowns; Crowley is usually never one to turn down a nice glass of wine, and his hand feels clammy in Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale worries that maybe the demon is scared of flying, since Crowley had once confessed to him that he has a fear of heights. Aziraphale curses internally at his forgetfulness and rubs Crowley’s hand some more.

“It’s very safe,” Aziraphale starts. “The aircraft, I mean. I’ve heard it’s even safer than driving in a car. And I’m here with you, nothing to worry about. Everything’s tickety-boo.” 

Crowley wrinkles his nose at the expression before replying, “I’m not scared, angel. Just a bit dizzy is all.”

Aziraphale is shocked at the fact that Crowley just admitted that he feels dizzy. Usually Aziraphale has to pry it out of him, so the demon must be feeling terrible.

“Oh dear, look at the horizon out the window, like on the ark,” Aziraphale says, thankful that he had taken the aisle seat and given the window seat to Crowley so the demon could look out the window.

As the minutes tick by, Aziraphale notices Crowley’s face grow more and more pale and how the demon’s face is shiny with sweat and he seems to be swallowing frequently. Aziraphale presses the back of his hand to Crowley’s forehead and finds it cool and clammy. 

“Are you feeling unwell, dear?” Aziraphale asks. “You’re looking a bit ill.” 

“‘M fine,” Crowley chokes out, barely opening his mouth. Aziraphale gives him a look and the demon amends his previous statement. “Stomach’s a bit upset.” 

_Damn it._ Aziraphale thinks to himself, cursing for not thinking an airplane would make Crowley feel sick. The poor thing went green on a ten minute ferry ride at Disney last year and then needed almost an hour to feel better after riding the tea cups with Adam and The Them. Aziraphale reaches over to rub Crowley’s back and softly asks, “Do you need to go to the restroom? I think I can manage a small miracle for us both to fit.”

Crowley swallows back a gag thinking of the tiny restroom that he had pitched in Hell all those years ago that always smelled awful no matter what and shakes his head. 

“Okay, let me see if I can get you some crackers and ginger ale,” Aziraphale frets, noticing the greenish tinge Crowley’s face has taken on.

Crowley’s stomach lurches at the suggestion of eating anything and he presses a hand to his mouth, trying to breathe deeply and keep his eyes on the horizon and not focus how the ground is swaying and bouncing under his feet. He won’t get sick; he wills his body to not throw up as an awful wave of nausea hits, causing him to slightly hunch forward and gag.

“Oh dear.” Aziraphale mutters to himself as he reaches for a bag and quickly hands it to Crowley. Knowing how easily embarrassed the demon is, he performs a minor miracle so that they appear to simply be sitting quietly to the other passengers. “It’s alright, no one knows what’s happening. If you feel nauseated, just throw up.” 

“Hrgh” is Crowley’s response before he spits into the bag. He feels horrible and groans at the thought that they have to go through this again. He feels hot suddenly and then feels a chill go through him as he suddenly burps and then retches before throwing up.

Aziraphale’s hand remains on his back, rubbing calming circles as he continues to vomit into the bag. He honestly wants to cry; his head is swirling, he’s puking into a small paper bag, his dreams of joining the mile-high club have been ruined, and he feels seconds away from discorporating due to the fact that he can’t fucking _breathe_.

"It's alright, my dear, just get it all out," Aziraphale soothes, continuing to rub Crowley's back as the latter finishes that round of vomiting and looks to be done for now. Crowley wrinkles his nose as he pulls the bag away from his mouth and Aziraphale hands him a handkerchief to wipe his mouth with. Aziraphale then shrugs off his coat and balls it up, offering it to Crowley for him to use as a pillow.

"Let me take that for you, dear boy," Aziraphale says, grabbing the bag from Crowley and closing it. "I'll see where I can dispose of this and I'll bring you some more bags and maybe some saltines and ginger ale for when you feel up to that?" 

Crowley attempts a weak smile, obviously feeling dreadful and not wanting to open his mouth, and leans against the wall with Aziraphale's coat. Aziraphale gives him one last comforting shoulder rub before getting up to find a flight attendant and a place to dispose of the sick bag.

"Is everything alright sir?" A flight attendant asks Aziraphale when he goes over to the bathroom/flight attendant area.

"Oh yes, thank you. My husband's just feeling a bit under the weather and I was looking for somewhere to throw this away," Aziraphale replies to the young woman.

"Oh, poor thing, let me take that off your hands," she says, taking the bag from Aziraphale and throwing it away before handing him a few new ones. "Just in case he still feels sick. If he needs any ginger ale or crackers later on, just come right back and I'll have those for you."

"Thank you very much miss," Aziraphale says, smiling at her before going back to his seat. 

Crowley is looking a bit better, although that isn't saying a lot since he still looks pretty nauseous and shaky. Aziraphale offers him one of the bags with a small, sympathetic smile.

"Come closer dear, you can put your head on my shoulder," Aziraphale says. Crowley looks at him before shaking his head and visibly trying to hold back a gag. Aziraphale frowns and begins rubbing the demon's back again. Crowley opens the bag and leans over it, throwing up a little bit before dry-heaving. _The poor thing must feel horrible._ Aziraphale thinks to himself, his frown deepening.

Crowley finally finishes and lifts his face from the bag before closing it. Aziraphale hands him his handkerchief again, which Crowley wordlessly but gratefully takes to wipe his mouth and blow his nose. Aziraphale gets up again to bring the bag to the flight attendant for her to throw away before returning to his sick husband.

"Do you feel any better, my love?" Aziraphale asks. The demon shrugs before putting his head on Aziraphale's shoulder. Crowley is still very pale, but he's not looking as green as he was ten minutes ago, so Aziraphale counts that as a good sign as he rubs Crowley's arm and plays with his hair, hoping to soothe the demon.

\----------------

The rest of the flight goes by without too much trouble (Aziraphale suspects Crowley fell asleep on his shoulder). The landing, however, was a bit bumpier than Aziraphale would have liked, causing Crowley to go green and spend fifteen minutes on his knees in the airport bathroom once they exit the plane.

And they still have the flight back home to worry about!

Needless to say, Aziraphale crosses air travel off his list of romantic things to do with Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So sorry for the long wait. Life has been crazy stressful, between moving and starting college, but now that the quarantine is happening I figured I might as well update. Hope everyone is staying safe!


	3. Food Poisoning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter is a little bit graphic, sorry about that.

It was the summer after the Apocalypse That Didn’t Happen and Aziraphale was taking Crowley to a food festival. Aziraphale was, obviously, very excited and so was Crowley. People that get to know the couple better were always surprised at the fact that Crowley enjoys eating almost as much as Aziraphale, they just didn't see him eating so often for quite a few reasons, most of them due to him being part snake. 

"Okay, here we are," Aziraphale says, once they get into the festival. "You have your wristband? And your water bottle? Wouldn't be good if you got dehydrated."

"Yes to both, angel," Crowley replies.

Aziraphale smiles and says, "Alright, all good then. Where should we go first?"

"Maybe the Brazil or Argentina booth?" Crowley asks nonchalantly, slightly smiling at his husband.

"You wily serpent, always with the meat," Aziraphale chuckles. "Alright, we'll stop there first." 

They stop by both booths, trying the different food samples being offered, Crowley mostly focused on the meat and Aziraphale trying everything equally, but mostly focused on the desserts.

"Crowley, you must try this sweet," Aziraphale says, holding out an alfajor. "It's absolutely _divine_."

"You're the only sweet I need, angel," Crowley says, smiling. 

"Oh, so you don't want to try?" Aziraphale raises an eyebrow.

"I never said _that._" Crowley laughs, taking a large bite.

\----------------

About two hours or so later, the couple is sitting a small table since Aziraphale wanted to sit and enjoy his crepes with ice cream when Crowley speaks up.

"It's awfully warm out today," he complains, fanning himself with one of the brochures Aziraphale had grabbed. Aziraphale frowns. Not only is the day mild and not at all hot, Crowley is sweating like crazy and looks slightly pale and tired to Aziraphale. 

"It's nice out today, dear," Aziraphale says. "Did you remember your medicines before we came? I know how you get with dairy or anything too acidic or spicy."

Crowley shakes his head, looking a bit embarrassed, before replying, "No, I took the medicine and I don't think I have heartburn. Just feel awfully warm and uncomfortable is all. I'm a bit lightheaded from the heat."

Aziraphale pushes the now-forgotten crepe off to the side so he can reach across the table to feel Crowley's forehead and cheek. Aziraphale lowers his hand and says, "You feel a bit warm, Crowley, and you're sweating a lot. I think you might have a bit of a fever, my dear. How long have you been feeling ill?"

"Didn't start until just now," Crowley responds, suddenly putting a hand to his stomach, which has just started cramping and churning upsetly. "Don't worry, angel, I probably just ate something I shouldn't have. You know how fussy my corporation can be about food."

"I am aware, Crowley, but you really don't look well," Aziraphale fusses. "We can go back to the bookshop if you're not feeling well."

Just as Crowley is about to respond, the two of them hear a rumbling, gurgling noise from Crowley's middle. 

"Oh dear," Aziraphale gasps, as the demon's face very suddenly takes on a greenish tinge. "Are you going to be sick now?"

"Bookshop," Crowley says, looking very nauseated and sick as he hands Aziraphale the car keys. Aziraphale quickly disposes of the crepe and helps Crowley up. He walks with his arm around Crowley in a way that looks affectionate, but in reality Crowley was just that weak and shaky. They walk hurriedly towards the exit and to where the Bentley is parked when Crowley suddenly stops when they near the porta potties and slaps a hand over his mouth.

"Oh goodness, alright, let's get you to one of the toilets," Aziraphale says, wincing at the unsanitary conditions he is certain will be present in the porta potty and sends up a quick prayer hoping that one will be open. Thankfully one of them is open, so Aziraphale throws open the door. Unfortunately, the awful smell and visual of the inside causes the poor demon to pitch forward and projectile-vomit all over the inside of the porta potty. Aziraphale cringes at the awful mess and horrible sounds coming from Crowley, even though he definitely has the stronger stomach between the two of them, but nevertheless rubs the sick demon's back and holds him up as he gets sick. Crowley coughs and stands back up. Aziraphale hands him some toilet paper, which Crowley wipes his mouth with and then throws away into the toilet before turning and shutting the door (and if Aziraphale uses a miracle to make the inside look spotless and squeaky-clean, no one has to know).

The two finally get to the car, where Crowley slumps down in the passenger seat and presses his face against the window. Even though it's a short ride back to the bookshop, Aziraphale miracles up a bag and places it in Crowley's lap.

"Feeling any better after vomiting?" Aziraphale asks before starting the car. Crowley makes a so-so motion with his hand before wrapping both arms around his extremely unhappy middle.

They make it to the bookshop without any issues, except for a close call when Crowley retched into the bag when Aziraphale suddenly braked and cursed when a car cut him off. Once inside, Crowley removes his sunglasses, goes over to the couch, and curls up around his stomach, with Aziraphale following closely behind. Aziraphale sits down and places Crowley's head in his lap, so he could scoot over and rub the demon's stomach. This was a bit of a routine for them, since as Crowley had mentioned before, his corporation could be very picky about what food agreed with it and what food did not. This was definitely a bit more than food just not agreeing with him, though.

"My dear boy, I think you've got a bad case of food poisoning," Aziraphale says, pushing Crowley's sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes. The demon whimpers and abruptly sits up, getting dizzy from the quick motion. "Crowley, what are you doing? Do you need a bucket? Can you make it to the restroom?"

Sweat pours off a green-faced Crowley as he shakes his head as he gets up, swaying slightly as he says, "No, I'm fine, I just need-" Crowley cuts himself off and hurries down the hall to the bathroom and shuts the door. Aziraphale gets up and tries to open the door, sighing when he finds it locked. He knows Crowley doesn't like Aziraphale to see him like this, even though they both vowed to be there in sickness and in health, so Aziraphale just leaves him be.

"Shout if you need me, dear," Aziraphale calls through the door, wincing at the sounds of vomiting from the other side. 

"I will," Crowley responds weakly from behind the door. 

Aziraphale goes to their bedroom to lay out some clean, comfortable pajamas for Crowley. He then goes to the kitchen to boil some water in the kettle to make some tea for himself and for Crowley, if the latter is feeling up to it. He gets some saltines and debates whether or not he should start making soup now, or if he should wait for Crowley to fall asleep after he gets out of the bathroom. He decides he could at least start preparing the ingredients while he waits for Crowley, to save himself the work later when the demon inevitably wants cuddles and for Aziraphale to rub his stomach, although he would never admit to it.

Aziraphale has finished cutting carrots and potatoes and is just about to get the chicken out of the freezer and start cutting up the onion he has on the counter, when Crowley enters the kitchen, white as a sheet, drenched in sweat, and looking embarrassed by something. The demon slumps into a chair and once again wraps his arms around his stomach and hunches forward. Aziraphale's heart breaks a little at how sickly his demon looks and is feeling, as well as a little guilty for having brought Crowley to the festival in the first place.

"Feeling a bit better, dear?" Aziraphale asks, setting aside the onion and taking the kettle off the stove.

"I threw up in the bathtub," Crowley blurts out, before looking down at the floor. "Tried to miracle it away, but I just threw up again, and I couldn't find any cleaning supplies under the sink."

"Oh, you poor thing, that's alright," Aziraphale says, guiding Crowley to their bedroom. "You're not feeling well at all, it happens. Here, get changed into these and lie down, I'll take care of the mess. Are you feeling up for some tea?"

Crowley places a hand on his stomach and pales a bit more before replying, "Not right now, angel. Thank you for taking care of me."

"Aw," Aziraphale coos, "I said in sickness and in health, didn't I?" The angel then exits the room, less than thrilled about having to clean vomit out of his bathtub, while Crowley strips off his sweaty, gross clothes and changes into his silky pajamas. He then climbs into bed and falls asleep.

\----------------

Crowley ends up needing to run to the bathroom a few more times throughout the night, and after the second time finally lets Aziraphale go with him, since he started to get very dizzy and the angel was worried and fussing over him. 

"I think I've gotten whatever it was out of my system," Crowley says tiredly, sagging against the bathtub after spending ten minutes waiting for something to happen. He feels extremely gross; he's completely drenched and has sweat through his third change of clothes, his eyes are watering and burning, his mouth tastes like something straight out of hell, and his abdominal and back muscles feel like they're going to be sore for weeks. 

"Glad to hear, my love," Aziraphale says, placing a cold and wet face cloth to Crowley's forehead and then wiping the sweat from the rest of his face. "I think your fever is breaking. Are you ready to go back to bed?"

Crowley nods, then says, "I need you to help me up though, angel." Aziraphale nods and gladly helps the demon over to the sink to rinse his mouth out. Crowley internally cringes at his reflection; his hair is wet and plastered to his forehead and sticking up in all directions, his lips are pale and dry, his face is white as a ghost and shiny with sweat, and his eyes are red-rimmed, tear-stained, and have awful dark bags under them. He honestly looks like hell. Or death.

Aziraphale tucks Crowley into bed after helping him change into some shorts and one of Aziraphale's undershirts. The angel then climbs into bed next to his husband and wraps him up in his arms, rubbing his stomach and making sure he's nice and comfortable until they both fall asleep, Crowley with a small smile on his face, because even though he feels awful, he knows that he has an angel that loves him watching over him.


	4. Hangover

Crowley had played himself.

He and Aziraphale had gone on a nice date last night, had come back home and gotten more than a little bit wine-drunk, and had decided to have sex.

Crowley however, had fallen asleep in the middle of it (Crowley had been mortified but Aziraphale had assured him that everything was fine) and unfortunately had forgotten to sober up. 

Normally when he forgot to sober up (this was definitely not the first time it had happened) he would just lie in bed or on the sofa all day, usually too nauseous or dizzy to do much of anything else, and Aziraphale would bring him some tea and crackers or some gatorade. This would not be the case today, since he and Aziraphale would be going on a road trip with Newt, Anathema, Madame Tracy, and Shadwell and they couldn't just cancel since they had been planning the trip for over a month and they already had their bags packed.

"My dear boy, we can always meet up with them later or tomorrow," Aziraphale says as he watches Crowley struggle to get dressed while the poor thing looks like he's about to throw up at any second. "We can just say you're ill. I mean, it isn't _technically_ a lie if we don't specify _why_."

Crowley scrunches up his face at the awful pounding and swirling in his head that leads to a wave of nausea before replying, "No. While I appreciate your willingness to lie, we've been excited for this trip and I don't want to make a fuss. I'll have some crackers and tea and I should be fine."

Aziraphale frowns, but goes to make some tea and crackers while Crowley finishes getting dressed and flops back onto the bed, covering his eyes with his arm.

\----------------

Since there were six of them going on the road trip, Shadwell and Madame Tracy had rented a minivan so everyone and their luggage could fit (Aziraphale was notoriously the opposite of a light packer). On a normal day, Crowley would not be looking forward to this; he usually drove because if he wasn't driving the motion of the car would make him sick to his stomach. Now, being hungover and already nauseous, he was scowling as he and Aziraphale entered the backseat of the car. Aziraphale let him sit in the middle, since being able to see the road ahead sometimes helped. What Aziraphale did not tell Crowley, however, was that he also let the demon sit in the middle so he could have an easy exit in the event that he does in fact need to vomit. Aziraphale really hoped this wouldn't be the case; whenever Crowley got hungover he would usually feel nauseous all day but not actually throw up, except for that time Crowley and him had tried vodka a few years ago. Aziraphale doesn't think he's ever seen someone throw up so much in all his 6,000 years on Earth.

"You can rest your head on my shoulder, dear," Aziraphale whispers to Crowley once the car starts moving. The demon wordlessly places his head on the angel's shoulder, obviously feeling miserable. Aziraphale wraps his arm around Crowley and rubs his side comfortingly, hoping to get Crowley to sleep until this passes. A few minutes later, his phone buzzes.

_Anathema: He has a migraine? _

_Aziraphale: No, just a bit of a rough night._

A few minutes later, Crowley quietly groans. Aziraphale turns his head slightly so he can get as good of a look as he can at Crowley without disturbing him too much.

"What's wrong, dear?" Aziraphale asks, whispering.

Crowley swallows and lets out a shaky breath before mumbling, "Nauseous. 'S hot."

Aziraphale nods before speaking up, saying, "Sergeant, it's a tad stuffy back here. Could you please be a dear and turn the air up a bit?" Aziraphale feels the air come out full force. "Thank you, that's perfect." Aziraphale positions the vents so that they are aimed directly at Crowley, who seems to relax into Aziraphale's shoulder as the angel cards his fingers through his hair.

After some time, Crowley sits up, startling Aziraphale, believing his husband had fallen asleep. Crowley's face is even more pale than before and is shiny with sweat.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale asks. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Sick," Crowley chokes out, bringing a hand to his mouth.

"Everything alright back there?" Madame Tracy calls.

"Oh dear! We need to pull over quickly!" Aziraphale cries, making the pounding in Crowley's head worsen.

"Ah, define quickly? We're on the highway," Shadwell says, trying to switch lanes and find a spot to pull over.

"In about ten to twenty seconds!" Aziraphale calls back. Crowley lurches forward and loudly retches. Aziraphale amends, "Make that five!"

"Oh goodness, do we have any bags?" Madame Tracy asks, opening the glove compartment and the center console. 

"Anathema has a bucket for seashells," Newt says. Said bucket was also being used to hold snacks, so Anathema quickly pours out the snacks and thrusts the bucket into Crowley's lap. Crowley tightly grips the bucket and lets out another retch as Aziraphale rubs his back. After a few more heaves, Crowley throws up the tea and crackers from that morning and the dinner and wine from the night before. The awful smell coming from the bucket makes his head spin and his stomach flips as another round of puke enters the bucket. His head is swirling and throbbing and his stomach burns and twists and generally feels awful. He doesn't even realize that the car has stopped until a door opens and he feels a nice breeze of fresh air. 

"Oh, you poor thing, let's get you some fresh air," Madame Tracy coos, helping him make his way out of the car on shaky legs, still clutching his sick bucket to his chest. Aziraphale is close behind him and wraps a strong arm around Crowley since the demon looked ready to pass out. Noticing that the smell from the bucket is doing nothing to help Crowley's dizziness and nausea, Aziraphale uses a miracle to clean it out, which Crowley is grateful for. The couple make their way over to a picnic table as the other four go into the rest stop building, sensing that the two want some privacy. Aziraphale miracles up a Gatorade bottle and wordlessly passes it to Crowley to drink. Crowley, to his credit, does manage a few sips, until he starts feeling nauseous again and throws up the Gatorade he had managed to drink onto the grass while Aziraphale holds him up and rubs his back.

"'M getting old," Crowley says, once he's finished.

"Pardon?" Aziraphale asks, confused and handing Crowley a handkerchief.

"Humans tend to get worse hangovers the older they get," Crowley replies, wiping his mouth with the handkerchief. "So I must be getting old."

"Dear, we're not humans," Aziraphale says.

"Yes, but we've certainly been here long enough to do human things," Crowley says. The two immortal beings sit in silence for about ten minutes as Aziraphale rubs Crowley's back; Crowley feels a bit better and manages to hold down a few tiny sips of Gatorade, when their friends return from inside with a few bags.

"We got Crowley some things that we think should help," Newt says, holding out a bag to Aziraphale a bit awkwardly. 

"We got some ginger ale, some saltines, some plastic bags, and the lady at the counter suggested giving dramamine a try so we got that too," Anathema says. "She said it can take around thirty minutes to kick in though, and that it can cause drowsiness." 

"Thank you," Crowley says, taking the medicine out of the bag and immediately taking the recommended dose. "I don't want to keep you waiting, though."

"Nonsense, lad, we'll just browse and have a snack and the thirty minutes will be over before we know it," Shadwell says, waving his hand. 

"We just hope you feel better, love," Madame Tracy says to Crowley. She then turns to Aziraphale and asks, "Is there any snack you'd like in particular?"

"Oh, I actually packed myself and Crowley some snacks, but if it's not too much trouble I'll have a Toblerone please," Aziraphale says. Crowley gives him a pouty face, and Aziraphale sighs before adding, "Actually two of those please, for when he's feeling better, and only then. And one of those chocolate eggs, since he loves them so much."

The four humans go back inside and leave Crowley and Aziraphale sitting on the bench once again. Aziraphale and Crowley sit in silence as Aziraphale rubs Crowley's back some more when Crowley suddenly yawns.

"'M getting tired," Crowley says, sitting up.

"That's good, that means the medicine should be working," Aziraphale says cheerfully. He sees the humans coming back and says, "Look there they are now. We'll be back in the car soon and you can have a nap and hopefully feel better."

"Ready to get back on the road?" Shadwell asks. Both supernatural entities nod and stand up, walking back to the car and getting in. Before Shadwell has even pulled out of the rest stop, Crowley is fast asleep.


	5. Stomach Flu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this one is also a bit gross, sorry.

"Ughhhh!"

Aziraphale is woken up by the sounds of Crowley groaning next to him. He looks over at the clock, which reads 3:38 am, and sighs. No wonder Crowley is groaning if he's awake that early; the demon had never been a morning person and hates to have his sleep disturbed. Aziraphale turns his head to the side, expecting to see a grumpy-looking Crowley who had probably been woken up by the sounds of young people partying from outside, but instead is met with the sight of Crowley looking rather pained as he lets out another groan. 

"What's wrong, dearest?" Aziraphale asks, wondering if he should turn his beside lamp on or not.

"Don't feel good, Aziraphale," Crowley groans. "My stomach." Aziraphale then notices that Crowley is curled up in a ball, arms clutched tightly around his belly, and begins to wonder what could have given Crowley such an awful stomachache. Crowley hadn't eaten anything creamy or extremely rich in dairy yesterday, so it definitely wasn't from that, nor had he eaten anything spicy. Even if he had eaten something spicy, it wouldn't effect him in this way; he would just have some bad heartburn. Could it be food poisoning? Aziraphale quickly ruled that out since he and Crowley had eaten the same thing and Aziraphale felt fine. Maybe he was hungry? He hadn't eaten that much at dinner, since he didn't feel very hungry. Aziraphale had remembered that being a bit strange, since he had prepared one of Crowley's favorite dishes, but thought maybe he had ruined his appetite by eating some snacks when Aziraphale wasn't looking.

Aziraphale is then snapped out of his thoughts when Crowley abruptly sits up in bed, breathing a bit heavily.

"Everything alright, dear?" Aziraphale turns on the light to get a better look at Crowley, who he now saw was pale, almost green (though Aziraphale chalked it up to the fact that the light _was_ a green banker light), beginning to sweat, and looked to be struggling to swallow. Aziraphale's mind was still clouded with sleep, so he didn't put two and two together fast enough, or at least that's what he would tell himself when he watched what happened next in horror.

Crowley's sweaty face paled even further as he shivered and then projectile-vomited all over the comforter. 

Aziraphale was now wide-awake and sat there in shock for a few seconds until Crowley burped/gagged and slapped a hand over his mouth before rushing to get up from their bed and running to the bathroom, one hand held tightly over his mouth and the other clutching his stomach. Aziraphale immediately gets up, puts on his silk robe to cover himself, and goes into the bathroom, where he finds his husband vomiting into the sink. Aziraphale rubs his back and wraps an arm around Crowley's middle to hold him up. The poor thing must be feeling awful; Aziraphale can feel how the demon's stomach churns beneath his grip.

Crowley takes a shaky breath as that round of vomiting finishes, though he can tell from the awful gurgling and twisting in his gut that this is far from over. He wriggles out of Aziraphale's arms and plops down in front of the toilet, opening the lid for when his stomach inevitably decides to eject its contents again. 

"Aw, dear, I think you've caught the stomach flu," Aziraphale says, moving Crowley's sweaty hair out of his face. "It's that time of the year when it's making its rounds, and you know how many children come into the shop this time of year, and schools are basically breeding grounds for stomach flu. Oh, probably best not to discuss that right now, you just got even more pale, which I didn't think was possible. If you're alright for a few minutes, may I put our comforter in the wash? I'll also change the sheets so everything is nice a fresh for when you're ready to go back to bed."

Crowley's face burns with embarrassment at having thrown up all over their bed, noticing a bit of sick on Aziraphale's robe, which almost makes him vomit again. He avoids it by swallowing a few times, before responding, "Yeah, sorry about that. Take your time."

"Oh, nothing to be sorry for, dearest," Aziraphale says, smiling slightly. "You're sick and feeling awful, it happens. I feel bad for not noticing sooner. I'll be right back." Aziraphale places a quick kiss on Crowley's forehead before exiting the bathroom. He folds the comforter into itself so the vomit doesn't spill out and carries it to the washing machine and places it inside. He puts in more detergent than usual and selects the heaviest wash setting before hitting start and returning to the bedroom. After checking that no vomit had gotten onto the floor, Aziraphale begins to strip the bed. The sheets hadn't gotten dirty with sick like the comforter, but Aziraphale wanted Crowley to have a nice, freshly-cleaned bed to lay down in once he was finished being sick. Not to mention, changing the sheets would be more sanitary. He sprays some Lysol throughout the room to disinfect it and kill any germs before selecting some nice white sheets to put on the bed. Just as he begins unfolding the sheets, he hears a loud retch from the bathroom, so he just miracles the sheets onto the bed and rushes to be with Crowley. The demon is hunched over the toilet, green-faced, and trying to swallow back the awful nausea and bitter liquid that's flooding his mouth.

"You just need to let it out, my love," Aziraphale says, rubbing Crowley's back. "Your body needs to get whatever is making it so sick out of its system so you can feel better." Crowley shakes his head as his cheeks puff out a bit and loudly swallows back a heave. Aziraphale frowns and moves a hand to massage Crowley's stomach. He begins massaging, but Crowley moves his hand away.

"Stop," Crowley chokes out before gagging. "It feels-" He gags and swallows before continuing. "Makes it feel worse. Don't want to throw up." 

"My dear boy, I know you don't want to throw up, but you need to in order to feel better," Aziraphale says. "Holding it in will just make you feel worse."

"My stomach hurts," Crowley groans into the toilet. Aziraphale frowns before sighing and beginning to massage Crowley's belly again. Crowley begins to wriggle out of the angel's grasp, but then he finds himself lurching forward and throwing up again. His throat burns as he retches again, forcing out more liquid, and his stomach churns and cramps painfully. He isn't sure where all this is coming from, since he hadn't had much of an appetite the day before and had merely picked at the dinner Aziraphale had made for him. 

"It's alright, dear, just get it all up, you'll feel better soon," Aziraphale coos, rubbing Crowley's back and running his fingers through the demon's sweaty hair. Aziraphale winces in sympathy as Crowley lets out a painful-sounding dry-heave and tries to reassure his husband, saying, "These types of things usually only last twenty-four hours and tend to hit the hardest in the beginning. You'll be alright, it's okay, dearest."

Finally, the vomiting tapers off into small burps before Crowley spits into the toilet and lifts his head up. Aziraphale reaches over and flushes before helping his husband sit back against the cool bathtub. The room smells awful, but Aziraphale doesn't want to risk the smell of Lysol triggering another bout of vomiting for Crowley or worse- a migraine. So he'll just have to deal with the smell for now. He's thankful his corporation isn't as sensitive to the smell as Crowley's; whenever Warlock, or even the angel himself, found themselves with some sort of stomach ailment, Crowley would often become nauseated as well and it wasn't uncommon for the demon to get sick too.

After about fifteen minutes, give or take, pass without Crowley throwing up again, Aziraphale asks, "Would you like to go lie down, my dear? The floor can't be comfortable and I made the bed all fresh for you, but the comforter is still in the wash. Though that's fine since I don't want you all bundled up since you felt a bit feverish."

"Ngk, no bed," Crowley moans, closing his eyes. "Still feel sick."

"I can place our mop bucket on your side of the bed if you start feeling nauseous again," Aziraphale says. "And in worst-case scenario, I don't mind changing the sheets again. I'll change them as many times as I need to if it'll help you feel better again, my love."

"I'll lie down on the couch until I feel better," Crowley says, compromising in way. Aziraphale won't have to worry about him sitting on the hard floor and he won't have to worry about dirtying their bed again. 

"Oh, alright, if that's what you want, dear," Aziraphale says. "But I'm bringing you your pillow and your favorite blanket. Well, your second-favorite, since the other one is way too warm for you with that temperature. Let me help you to the couch." Aziraphale slowly helps Crowley up from the floor when Crowley stops him.

"Angel, wait, I'm a bit dizzy," Crowley breathes out, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth just in case. Aziraphale immediately stops and watches Crowley for further signs of distress. After about a minute, the dizzy spell passes and Crowley says, "Okay, I'm good to go."

Aziraphale decides to carefully pick Crowley up, bridal-style, and carries him over to the couch, where he gently deposits the sick demon and places the mop bucket next to him. Aziraphale then ruffles Crowley's hair before going to grab the blanket and pillow. He then places the pillow under Crowley's head and covers him with the blanket, tucking it under the demon's body and feet, since those tend to get cold. 

Aziraphale then places a kiss on Crowley's forehead, and then says, "I'm going to go check that we have some gatorade and bland food for when you're feeling a bit less nauseated. Get some rest, my dear."

Aziraphale opens the fridge and immediately realizes they have no gatorade. He frowns and walks over to the pantry, hoping maybe he had just forgotten to place some new bottles in the fridge. He smiles in delight when he finds a whole new pack (which had previously not been there before, but angelic hope had caused them to appear). He places one bottle in the freezer to cool faster and places the others in the fridge. He grabs a box of water crackers and places them on the counter so he won't misplace them or forget about them once Crowley feels up to eating. He then fills a large pot with water and places it on the stove to make some light soup with the chicken he had originally been defrosting for tonight's dinner before returning to the living room to check on Crowley. 

"Feeling any better?" Aziraphale asks. 

Crowley peers up at him and weakly replies, "Not really that nauseous anymore, stomach just hurts a lot." Crowley felt like a bunch of hot knives were turning and twisting around inside him; he felt and looked absolutely miserable as he tightened his grip around his middle. 

"Aw, come here," Aziraphale coos, sitting next to Crowley and pulling the demon close. "You can lay your head in my lap, dear, and I'll rub your stomach." Crowley lies down, resting his head in Aziraphale's lap, burying his face in the comfort of his husband's soft thighs. The angel then begins to rub the demon's stomach in circles, lightly applying pressure to relieve some of the cramps. Crowley closes his eyes, feeling extremely tired and weak and hoping he can fall asleep until his stomach feels better. After some time, he begins to feel a bit better and thinks he might be able to fall asleep.

Then he starts feeling bad again. He feels his body get extremely hot and he feels sweat prickling on his forehead, upper lip, and back. His mouth fills with saliva as he feels the awful cramps start again.

"Dearest, you've gone extremely pa- oh dear, here's the bucket, it's alright," Aziraphale realizes what's happening and immediately sits Crowley up and thrusts the mop bucket into Crowley's lap just in time for him to throw up. Aziraphale rubs his husband's back as he continues to vomit and then dry-heave for the next five minutes. Crowley finally lifts his head from the bucket, looking awful and feeling disgusting.

"Oh, you poor dear, I'll be right back," Aziraphale says, going into the bathroom. He grabs a washcloth and wets it with cold water before returning to his husband, who is still clutching the bucket tightly, afraid he'll throw up again. Aziraphale wipes Crowley's mouth before wiping the sweat off his face. Aziraphale then picks up the bucket and miracles it clean before sitting down next to Crowley.

"I think I'm feeling a bit better now," Crowley says hoarsely, leaning against Aziraphale's shoulder. "Not nauseous, just a stomachache and feeling a bit sore and weak." 

"You're probably getting dehydrated," Aziraphale says. "Do you feel up for a few small sips of gatorade? It should be nice and cold now."

"I don't see any harm in it," Crowley replies tiredly. "I'll throw up either way, probably."

"Okay I'll go grab it for you," Aziraphale says, getting up and walking over to the kitchen. He takes the gatorade out of the freezer and opens it for Crowley before passing it to him, reminding, "Small sips." Crowley takes the tiniest possible sip he can and waits for about five minutes before taking another. And then another. Eventually, about a quarter of the bottle is gone, much to Aziraphale's delight. 

"Marvelous, my dear boy," Aziraphale says. "Soon you can eat some crackers and later we'll try some soup. You'll be feeling better in no time."

Crowley just smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is Crowley caring for Aziraphale. I can't believe this work is almost done! Thank you for all of your support.


	6. Aziraphale Catches It

"You're doing well, my dear boy, maybe we can try some of the soup I made in an hour if you're still feeling alright," Aziraphale says once Crowley finishes the last saltine. The poor thing had been throwing up for the past several hours, so Aziraphale was glad the demon was feeling a bit better now. 

Even though Aziraphale was starting to feel a bit under the weather himself. 

The angel had at first brushed it off as being tired, since he had been up since the very early morning with Crowley, who had been throwing up nonstop. Then he had brushed off the headache and uneasy feeling in his stomach as a side-effect of being in a poorly ventilated bathroom with a vomiting Crowley and then not eating much since he hadn't wanted to leave the demon's side for too long. 

Now, however, with Crowley not having thrown up in an hour and not having been in the bathroom for a while, Aziraphale was having a hard time brushing off the slight nausea he had been feeling on and off for a few hours and realized he had probably caught whatever Crowley had. On the bright side, the worst of the illness only seemed to last a few hours, but those few hours seemed utterly miserable based on what Aziraphale had seen Crowley go through.

"Angel, what's wrong?" Crowley asks, looking up at Aziraphale with worried, but tired, eyes. "You're looking a bit peaky."

"Oh, I've just felt a bit nauseous but it's probably nothing to worry about," Aziraphale replies. "Must just be a sympathy thing."

"Angel, you've never had this before, even when I got that disgusting bought of food poisoning," Crowley says, raising an eyebrow. Then his face falls as he sighs, "You probably caught whatever I have. I'm sorry, Angel."

"Oh that's quite alright, dearest, it's not your fault," Aziraphale frowns and rubs his now churning stomach. "These types of illnesses are known for being quite contagious. I might as well get it over with so I can feel better, but I feel bad since you're already feeling under the weather and I know how other people being sick sometimes makes you sick as well."

Crowley waves a hand in dismissal and says, "I'll be fine, Aziraphale, let's just get you to the bathroom; you're starting to sweat an awful lot."

They both get to the bathroom and Aziraphale sits in front of the toilet and Crowley sits against the bathtub.

And then they wait.

"Oh dear, it's terribly warm in here," Aziraphale complains, removing his sweater. Before Crowley can say anything, the angel then feels a chill course through him along with a particularly strong wave of nausea and he heaves into the toilet. He retches once more before throwing up, and Crowley rubs his back. He throws up again and feels absolutely awful as his stomach continues cramping and the smell makes his headache a bit worse. He feels Crowley's hand go away for a second and he turns his head just in time to see Crowley throw up in the bathtub, which makes him throw up again. Crowley continues to rub Aziraphale's back even though they're both throwing up and Aziraphale finds himself feeling quite touched by that even though he is a bit grossed out and feeling pretty awful. 

When Aziraphale finishes throwing up, he flushes the toilet and sits against the bathtub with Crowley, who had just turned the water on to rinse away the puke. Crowley then gets up and wets a facecloth with some cold water and wrings it out a bit before wiping Aziraphale's mouth and the rest of his face. Crowley then folds the facecloth and places it on the back of Aziraphale's neck.

"It helps a bit with the heat," Crowley says. "Sorry about that, I thought it would be fine but then I felt it coming and couldn't stop it. How are you? Do you want to rinse your mouth yet or do you just want to sit here for a bit?"

"Don't worry about it, dear, and yes rinsing my mouth sounds lovely," Aziraphale replies, standing up slowly so he won't get dizzy. He walks over to the sink where Crowley has already poured some water into a cup for him, and he accepts it gratefully before swishing it around in his mouth and spitting into the sink. Crowley then does the same before they exit the bathroom.

"Just sit on the couch, Angel, I'll get you another bucket if you feel sick again, which you probably will, but I'll be here with you," Crowley says softly, before going to the kitchen and getting another bucket from under the sink and placing it next to Aziraphale. Crowley then goes back into the kitchen and grabs some water, a red Gatorade, and the box of saltines before placing the items on the couch between him and Aziraphale.

"Do you want to rest your head on my lap?" Crowley asks. Aziraphale nods and adjusts himself so his head is in Crowley's lap. Crowley then runs his fingers through Aziraphale's hair and massages his head. Aziraphale is curled up with his arms wrapped around his stomach, which is still very much bothering him.

"Do you want to watch a movie?" Aziraphale asks, looking up at Crowley.

"Sure, what should we watch?" Crowley asks, turning on the TV. 

"I'm not sure, maybe_ Star Wars_," Aziraphale replies. Crowley chuckles to himself and Aziraphale asks, "What's so funny?"

"You just want an excuse to ogle Han Solo or Anakin Skywalker," Crowley laughs, then winces and grabs his stomach. "Note to self, don't laugh when you've spent most of the day puking your guts out."

Aziraphale lets out a snort before shooting back, "Please, as if you don't undress Obi-Wan with your eyes every time we watch. But we can watch something else if you'd like?"

"Whatever, you want, Angel, you're more sick than I am," Crowley responds. "Or we can watch _Say Yes to the Dress_?"

"Oh yes, that's an idea," Aziraphale ponders. "I'd prefer _Star Wars_ though."

"Alright, I'll put on _Return of the Jedi_," Crowley says, selecting the movie on the TV. "I know that's your favorite one."

"Thank you," Aziraphale smiles. 

They sit in content silence until Aziraphale starts feeling sick again around when Luke enters Jabba's Palace. Aziraphale sits up slowly and leans over with his head in his hands to take deep breaths in hopes that the nausea will go away.

"Are you feeling sick? Do you need the bucket?" Crowley asks, voice full of concern. Aziraphale nods and shudders from the awful nausea and the dizziness that has come with it. Crowley passes him his bucket and begins to rub his back. Aziraphale gags and lets out some painful dry-heaves before he's able to throw up, though there hadn't been much left to throw up anyways. Throughout it, Crowley brushes his sweaty hair out of his face while rubbing his back soothingly. Crowley just hopes that Aziraphale will feel better soon and that he himself won't throw up again.

Aziraphale finally finishes heaving and then miracles the bucket clean so Crowley won't have to clean it out. Crowley looks shocked and is about to comment of Aziraphale not needing to use up miracles on his account, but Aziraphale stops him and says, "It's alright, my dear boy, it was a helpful miracle so it's not a 'waste' or whatever you might think. Also it wouldn't do if we were both throwing up, now would it?"

Crowley sighs before placing the bucket back onto the floor and taking a small sip of Gatorade. He then offers a bottle to Aziraphale if the angel wants it, which he most likely does to get the taste out of his mouth. Also, if he gets sick again it's less painful if he has something to throw up.

"Small sips," Crowley says softly before nibbling on a saltine. Aziraphale offers him a small smile before taking a tiny sip. The angel then waits a few minutes and then takes some more small sips until a quarter of the bottle is gone and he feels tired. He yawns.

"Do you want to cuddle?" Crowley asks. "I'll let you be the little spoon."

"That sounds lovely, my dear," Aziraphale replies. They then lie down on the sofa and Crowley wraps himself around Aziraphale like a koala.

"I can rub your stomach again, if you'd like?" Crowley asks softly. 

"Alright, thank you," Aziraphale replies. Crowley begins to rub the angel's stomach, which helps the cramps feel a bit better. Aziraphale then finds himself drifting off in the arms of the demon who loves him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it folks, the last chapter! I hope you enjoyed this one even though it was a but shorter than the others and the rest of the work. I enjoyed writing it and it feels good to have finished a work with more than one chapter lol.


End file.
